


Nothing Sweeter than a Dream

by PearlsAndRoses



Series: I never asked for love [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, Erotica, F/M, Heartbreak, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearlsAndRoses/pseuds/PearlsAndRoses
Summary: In dreams, anything can be true: you might be able to fly, have a never-ending supply of your favourite candy or you could have that happy ending with the one you once loved. Still love. Sorcha Lavellan finds Solas visiting her in her dreams where everything seems peaceful. As soon as she wakes, however, the harsh reality is waiting for her. Fortunately, Leliana found just the thing to keep Sorcha’s mind from wandering back to inevitable heartbreak.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Inquisitor, Alistair/Female Lavellan, Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas
Series: I never asked for love [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559443
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Nothing Sweeter than a Dream

Vines of arbor blessing adorned the crumbled stones of the ruin, the scent of spring coming from the white flowers. Long grasses tickled Sorcha’s legs as she made her way dow to the stream below. The water flowed around her feet, cool, but not cold, and the sun warmed her upturned face. A chorus of chirping birds filled the forest that covered the rolling hills stretching as far as she could see. 

He was here, she knew for sure without hearing his footsteps. Indeed, he stepped out of the ruins right where she’d been looking.

“You’re late,” she teased, nodding to the blue and green striped blanket spread out on the grass. A basket filled with food and drink sat on top of it, together with her bow.

“Perhaps you are the one who arrived early.” His tone was lighthearted and he smiled, though there was a sad glint in his grey eyes.

She rolled her eyes before running to him. Giggling, she crashed into him and they fell down on the blanket, her mouth pressed against his. He kissed her as eagerly as she kissed him, rolling her over to lay on top of her. His tongue teased her lips and she opened her mouth. Agonisingly slow, he kissed her jawline, her neck until her hips grinded against him. The rumble of her stomach stopped him and he arched an eyebrow.

“I see there are other needs vying for your attention.” Amusement tinged with something that almost seemed like regret filled his voice and, untangling himself from her arms and legs, he sat upright. Her hands fell empty into her lap and she had to stop herself from reaching out to him. The food looked enticing, but she couldn’t shake the thought that if she didn’t hold on to him now, he would—

“Eat, vhenan.” He handed her a piece of sweet bread, butter spread thickly on top.

The sweetness of honey and cinnamon spread through her mouth, followed by the rich taste of butter and, with a low hum of delight, she closed her eyes. When she opened them, he was gone.

* * *

Sorcha shot up in the darkness of her room. Butter and honey lingered on her lips, so real she would swear the meeting had been more than a dream. It couldn’t be. 

She pushed the blankets aside to let the cold air expel the feeling of warm sunlight on her skin, of cool water around her feet, of his voice in her ear. He had no reason to visit her, not after he’d left without a goodbye. The underlying message had been clear enough: You have proven a distraction, an unwelcome one. It ends here. 

Water infused with herbs—peppermint and elfroot most apparent—cleansed her mouth and she looked to one of the windows—curtains drawn to the sides as always. Stars pierced the pitch-black sky, the sun wouldn’t rise for another hour or two. She could go to sleep, but what if he was waiting for her? Would he be waiting for her? Her gaze wandered to the heap of blankets at her feet before she the dream’s ending hit her. He was gone.

A shiver ran down her spine and Sorcha swung her legs out of bed to slip into slippers lined with fennec fur. She pulled her warm dressing gown around her as she sat down at her desk where three stacks of reports waited. One for each of her advisors. She took the top report from the first stack, Josephine’s elegant and neat handwriting covering page after page. Tomorrow, she would arrive at the war table meeting knowing all about what their soldiers had been up to, which nobles had arrived in Skyhold and what the latest rumours from all over Thedas were. Josephine would be so proud.

After lighting a lantern, she pulled her legs underneath her and set to reading.

* * *

“Before we end this meeting, I would like to inform you that Arl Gell Lendon of Edgehall will be visiting, Inquisitor,” Josephine said.

Sorcha grimaced at hearing that name. “I read the information you gave me about him. He cut down and burned the vhenadahl in Edgehall’s alienage, didn’t he? Is he hoping the Inquisition will help him solidify his power?” At Josephine’s nod, Sorcha said, “We could help the ones causing the unrest. His claim is disputed anyway and according to the file you gave me, not much changed in his attitude towards elves.” 

Many Dalish viewed alienage elves with disdain and Sorcha hadn’t cared much about them either; if they wanted to live among shemlen, that was their choice. That was until she’d seen an alienage. Families packed into hovels made of rotten planks, children running around with dirt on their faces and puddles lining streets of dirt. Brown, brown, brown. The only colour had come from the majestic vhenadahl at the centre of the alienage, its branches hung with trinkets and its bark adorned with bright red paint. To think even that had been taken away. 

“That would be…” Josephine’s brows scrunched together in thought. “Politically most unwise. However, since the relations between the Inquisition and the King of Ferelden are well, perhaps a word to His Majesty about the alienage would be of some help.”

“Or I could sent one of my troops to patrol his area,” Cullen suggested. “To show that we’re keeping an eye on him.”

“Commander, that is not how these things are done. We need to hint that we know his secrets—whether we do or we don’t—and remind his of that each time he even thinks of ignoring us.” Daggers hid in Leliana’s sweet tone and her smile could cut through steel.

Sorcha looked at each of her advisors; they’d stood by her side to offer their advice through the last years and without them, she’d have been utterly lost. “You’re great, you know that?”

The meeting was concluded shortly after and while her advisors left, Sorcha ordered the papers she’d left scattered all over the table. The map they’d once used to track Corypheus and his troops now only had figurines of their own people on it, like the Inquisition had conquered Ferelden and Orlais, even some parts of the Free Marches. Weird to think those troops, spies and scouts were all under her control. They were her clan now.

“Inquisitor, a moment?” Sorcha’s head shot up at Leliana’s words.

“I thought we just ended the meeting,” she said, sharper than intended.

Leliana cocked an eyebrow. “We did, but I thought this topic required some…” She pursed her lips as if in thought, but Sorcha knew it was an act: Leliana knew exactly what to say. “Discretion. It’s regarding the ‘relations between the Inquisition and the King of Ferelden’.” Leliana quoted the words Josephine had spoken earlier and Sorcha felt a blush rising in her cheeks. If anyone would know about her and Alistair, it would be her spymaster.

Keeping her face as blank as she could, she asked, “Yes? What about it?”

“One of my spies gave me this.” Leliana took several pages bound together with a piece of leather from some hidden pocket. “It was about to be published and The Randy Dowager had their review already waiting. Fortunately, neither of those two will be seen by anyone except you and me. Imagine the rumours it would have caused, everyone loves a tale about star-crossed lovers. You wouldn’t want that, hmm?” 

Sorcha felt the corner of her mouth twitch as she took the manuscript from Leliana. “No. I’ll be more careful.” Not that it was anyone’s business what she and Alistair did in their own time. By the Creators, they were adults.

When she turned to the door, Leliana interrupted her yet again. “One more thing. Alistair is a dear friend to me and he’s been through,” this time the pause was real and accompanied by a glint of pain that was quickly hidden again, “enough. I would not take it kindly if he were hurt in any way.”

Before she could answer, Leliana walked past her, out the door. 

“It’s not like that,” Sorcha whispered to the now empty room. It wasn’t, it really wasn’t. What she and Alistair had was enjoyable, there was understanding and kindness, laughter and talking. Sex. Nothing more, so no one would get hurt.

Placing the manuscript on top of the other papers, Sorcha went to her quarters where she put the stack on her desk. After a look at the sun hovering high over the mountains, she pulled her hair in a bun and slung her bow over her shoulder. Just enough time to go hunting before dinner. Hopefully, it would make her tired enough to have a dreamless sleep tonight.

* * *

The brush moved through her hair, again and again, not a single knot left, yet she didn’t stop. The night’s chill entered her room through the uncurtained windows, her nightgown failing in keeping its cold embrace away. She should go to bed. At the thought, her jaw stretched wide open with the umpteenth yawn of that night. Last night had been a dream, nothing more. But then why did she fear to go to sleep so much?

Searching around for something to do—mend some clothing, oil the wood of her bow—the manuscript Leliana had given her earlier that day caught her eye. She scanned the first page. **Brought to his knees by her power** , the title read. Suppressing a snort, she took it with her as she settled in between the wall of pillows that lined the bed’s headboard. After pulling up the blankets, she set to reading.

Rays of light fell through the stained glass windows to outline the seat at the end of the hall on which the Inquisitor sat. Her shape was small against the throne but in no way insignificant. With her head held high, she looked down at him.

“King Alistair,” she said. “Such a pleasure to welcome you here, Your Majesty.”

Her beauty captured his eye; the long, raven-black hair falling over her shoulders, her eyes brighter than the summer sky, her lips full, waiting to be kissed. A dress made from fabric better suited for a negligee hinted at her curves. This was the woman who had closed the Breach, defeated Corypheus, saved Thedas and she not only looked as impressive as he had imagined, she was also stunning.

“Please, call me Alistair. All those titles just confuse me.” He smiled at her, hoping to see her soften in return, but she only responded with the slightest upturn of lips. “What should I call you…”

She raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Inquisitor will do fine. I don’t want to confuse you.”

He chuckled. “Inquisitor it is.”

Sorcha smiled at the joke. She could almost hear Alistair’s chuckle, a thing she hadn’t heard in too long. While reading her own description felt uncomfortable, like looking into a twisted mirror image, so far she quite liked this King Alistair.

Heat coiled in the Inquisitor’s abdomen at hearing a king call her by her title. Or perhaps it was more than the way he called her ‘Inquisitor’, it was in how his gaze lingered on her, his broad shoulders and his dishevelled hair. It had been a long time since she’d been with a man, or a woman for that matter. Being Inquisitor was lonely, something this man—a king—would surely understand.

“Now, I suggest some privacy for our negotiations.” She gave him a questioning look. 

At his nod, his guards made their way out of the hall and the Inquisition’s guards followed them. It left them alone in the immense hall. The roof stretched high overhead and every sound echoed in a futile effort to fill the empty space. Inquisitor Lavellan leaned back in her chair, from where she could view the entire room, but she only cared about the person standing before her.

“As I’m sure you are aware, the Inquisition did much to bring stability in your country.” She let the sentence hang in the air. Asking for anything would mean giving him knowledge, power to use to his advantage, while her staying silent might make him offer more than he’d intended. It was all a game, one where she knew exactly what she wanted to win.

“And you want a reward. Payment. Something like that.” He sounded disappointed, bored even. “The document I gave your Ambassador details what Ferelden is willing to give the Inquisition. Food, wool, the right to have an army on _Fereldan_ soil, the usual.” He rolled his shoulders, his shirt stretching tight around well-defined muscles. He had no clue what she was going to ask for, had he? She smiled to herself.

“I know, but I was hoping for something else.”

Subtle, very subtle. Sorcha huffed at her counterpart. She didn’t really like the trying-to-be-cunning-but-clearly-failing Inquisitor of the story, to be honest. Was that how people saw her? Or did they see a woman who actually was cunning and failed to write that? She would never understand why people liked these romance stories that much when the quality was sorely lacking. Still, she wanted to know Alistair’s answer, so she kept reading.

He forgot to breathe at the look she cast him and wondered if she meant what he thought she meant. It would be a most indecent proposal, but he found it hard to deny that he was drawn to her. If he misinterpreted her words, however, it would either lead to nasty consequences or he’d make a fool out of himself. Probably the latter, it usually was.

“Ah, I see you have heard of the famous Fereldan cheeses. That’s what you’re asking, right?” he said and quickly added, “Inquisitor.”

She rose to take a step forward. The light from the windows behind her shone through her dress, outlining her slim figure. The curve of her breasts and her narrow waist, her round hips and long legs. He couldn’t stop his body from reacting, his pants growing uncomfortably tight as she descended the dais and walked over to him. Each step of her swaying hips enchanted him like a swinging pendulum.

She stopped close enough that he smell her perfume—lilacs and some herb he didn’t recognise—but she didn’t touch him. “It’s the Fereldan men I’ve heard about. Care to show me if the rumours are true?”

“You want me to show…” His voice trailed off and he swallowed hard. Her red lips were opened slightly, enticingly. 

She trailed a finger across his jaw and, when he shivered, she tiptoed, her hot breath stroking his neck as she whispered, “Yes, show me.”

“Oh,” Sorcha whispered, letting out a long, slow breath. She knew what was underneath those clothes and the thought made her blush. Suddenly, reading the story felt like spying when she knew she shouldn’t, none of this was meant for her eyes. However, she couldn’t stop her body from reacting to the image painted by those words, nor could she stop herself from continuing to read.

The Inquisitor knew Alistair’s eyes were glued to her behind as she strode back to her seat, so she put some more sway to her hips and walked slowly, to let him see her every contour. Maybe it had been presumptuous of her to don this dress after catching nothing more than a glimpse of him during his arrival. He looked as handsome as the stories, though, no disappointment there. And she’d seen the bulge between his legs; it seemed he wasn’t going to disappoint her in that aspect either.

A low throbbing started between her legs and she sat down to face him again. His eyes were blazing with lust, but he restrained himself well. Apparently, he was fine with her taking the lead, which was just the way she liked things.

She raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

Without speaking a word, he started undoing the buttons of his shirt. His fingers moved surprisingly nimble from one to the next—what else could he do with those fingers, she wondered—to show the smooth skin of his chest, ridges on his abdomen and a trail of reddish-brown hair leading to where it disappeared below his belt. She licked her lips, following his hands when he took off the shirt to expose a bare chest. He was gorgeous.

Shadows and sunlight played over the muscles she’d seen hints of beneath his clothes, flecks of coloured light moving on his skin with each breath he took. His fingers ran over his belt, stopping at the buckle, and a teasing smile played on his lips. He knew how much she wanted him.

With studied indifference, she tapped her lips with a finger and crossed her legs. The movement revealed a slit in her dress that fell open to expose almost the entire length of her leg. 

Alistair’s hands twitched, his breath hissed between his lips and he undid his belt buckle in the blink of an eye. Next thing, his trousers were on the floor in a heap, together with his shoes and socks. His smallclothes tented with his hard length underneath. She didn’t need to encourage him to get rid of that last piece of clothing and then he stood naked before her. His length stood with a gentle curve, a vein running from his base to the deep pink of his sensitive tip. It was true what they said about Fereldan men, then.

The throbbing between her legs grew stronger and she felt the wetness there drenching her panties. Her mouth opened, ready to order him to take her, but she wouldn’t. Not quite yet. 

Sorcha’s heart was beating loud and her hand had started rubbing between her legs at some point. She could feel herself growing slick down there. 

“Just let him take me. You.” To have Alistair fill her, have him reach that special place with each trust. Rubbing made for a poor replacement, so she hiked up her nightgown and moved her panties aside. Her fingers slid between wet folds.

“Well, do I have your approval?” Alistair asked. He had to keep his hands from covering himself, the look on her face worth every bit of embarrassment he might feel at standing naked in front of this woman he barely knew. Or at standing naked in the middle of a giant hall where someone might come in at any moment. Better not to think about that.

She shifted around on her seat, making the dress fall open up to her hip. The black lace of her panties showed underneath. Delicate lace that his hands could tear apart if he wished. Oh, Maker, but he wished to do just that, if only she told him to. Would she be wet for him like he was hard for her? What would her lust taste like? What sounds would she make as his length filled her, pushing her ever closer to her climax?

Her voice turned husky when she finally answered his question. “You do.” She stood and her dress slid from her shoulders, leaving her almost as naked as he was. Her pink nipples were taut on perfectly round breasts, her hip cocked as if to tease him.

“Good. That’s. That’s good.” He wasn’t thinking straight and he didn’t care. 

“Now,” she drawled, before pointing abruptly at the ground in front of her. “Kneel.”

A moan escaped Sorcha at the sudden command. He was hers. Two fingers slid deep inside her and curved, while the palm of her hand rubbed her clit. In and out. Her hips had started to move like they were lifting up to meet Alistair’s trusts and her free hand gripped the paper tight enough to make it crumple. What she wouldn’t give to have him here in her bed, doing exactly as she instructed him.

The Inquisitor allowed herself a pleased smile when he did as she’d ordered. To have a king at her feet, listening, obeying her every command… This was more than she could have ever dreamed of. 

He must smell her lust now, kneeling mere inches from her, his face at the same level as her panties. 

“How about you show me your gratitude for everything the Inquisition, everything I did?”

The air of his breath touched her skin, like the promise of a caress. He didn’t lit his eyes from her lace panties when he said, “Your wish is my command, Inquisitor.”

Calloused hands gripped her hips, his fingers moving around the edges of her panties, slipping underneath as he showered the lower part of her stomach with kisses. Soft, gentle, yet each touch igniting the fire within her. His mouth moved over the fabric, down between her thighs and she placed her feet a little wider to give him access to everything hidden there. With a groan, he pushed the panties down to expose her completely. For a moment, a string of her wetness stretched between her hidden opening and the fabric.

She sucked in her breath when the tip of his tongue flicked between her folds. He lapped up her juices like he was parched. Maybe he was, maybe he’d been longing for her all this time. His tongue swirling, dipping deeper, coming up, teasing her swollen nub. He circled between her folds, lingering on her nub longer each time he reached it.

She bucked into him, her hands buried in his hair to keep him close. Faster and faster he went. Thoughts flickered in her mind. Thoughts of what would happen when someone walked in to find the King of Ferelden naked, pleasuring her. Of how her moans bounced off the walls and would be heard in all nearby rooms. His mouth, Alistair’s mouth, made her burn with a fire that incinerated each of those thoughts, however, and she muttered incomprehensible words to urge him on. 

Her moan was cut short when he sucked on her nub. Her entire body tensed and— A high-pitched wail came from her throat as wave after wave of heat filled her. 

Like he wanted more, like she could never give him enough, his fingers dug into her buttocks, forcing her to open her legs wider as each touch of his mouth drew out her climax.

Sorcha could _feel_ his lips, his tongue, his mouth and her back arched as her fingers slid inside. Muscles contracted rhythmically as she came. 

As the pleasure ebbed from her to leave her fulfilled, albeit alone, she once again looked at the manuscript to read the final lines.

She looked down at him with hooded eyes, a blush on her cheeks. “That was…” She sighed and a lazy smile spread over her face. “Good. I do hope you’ll join me in my quarters later this evening?” 

He smirked. Her tangy taste still filled his mouth, her juices covered his mouth and chin. He spoke in a husky voice, “Your wish is my command.”

By Mythal. Butterflies filled Sorcha’s chest, their wings fluttering against her ribcage. It was as if he’d spoken those words to her.

The image of Alistair’s smile and the sound of his voice were all that met her in her dreams that night.


End file.
